Lyric Poems Made in Imitation of the Italians. Of which, many are Translations From other Languages ... By Philip Ayres |
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A Sonnet, of Petrarc,
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 | Lyric Poems |  |
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A Sonnet, of Petrarc,
Going to visit M. Laura, remembers she is lately dead.
Oh Eyes! Our Sun's extinct, and at an End,
Or rather glorify'd in Heav'n does shine;
There shall we see her, there does she attend,
And at our long Delay perchance repine.
Or rather glorify'd in Heav'n does shine;
There shall we see her, there does she attend,
And at our long Delay perchance repine.
Alas, my Ears, the Voice you lov'd to hear,
Is now rais'd up to the Cœlestial Choire;
And you, my Feet, she's gone that us'd to stear
Your Course, where you till Death can ne'er aspire.
Is now rais'd up to the Cœlestial Choire;
And you, my Feet, she's gone that us'd to stear
Your Course, where you till Death can ne'er aspire.
Cannot my Soul nor Body yet be free?
'Twas not my Fault, you this Occasion lost;
That Seeing, Hearing, Finding her y'are crost:
Blame Death, or rather blest be ever He,
'Twas not my Fault, you this Occasion lost;
That Seeing, Hearing, Finding her y'are crost:
Blame Death, or rather blest be ever He,
Who binds and looses, makes and can destroy,
And when Life's done crowns with Eternal Joy.
And when Life's done crowns with Eternal Joy.
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